Smoke and Mirrors
by Unseen
Summary: Empathy is a very distressing problem... especially for Severus Snape... (Challenge added!) Rating will probably up dramatically, so beware!
1. A Beginning

Smoke and Mirrors  
  
  
  
By Unseen  
  
  
  
A/N: Hi. I'm attempting something which I have never ever seen on ff.net, and it might be a bit difficult… and strange. I started writing this after an overdose of David Bowie, so please bear with me…. Next part will come up if and only if this one intrigues you. .. see at the end for The Question, because I actually desperately need your opinion for completing it.. this is NOT simply blackmail. Only slightly! (  
  
  
  
Severus stepped into the party room hesitantly, his head spinning. The basement room was drowned in smoke, coloured projectors shining dully through, and the music alone would have been enough knock him off balance. He braced himself and walked in.  
  
A Voice purred in his ear :  
  
« You might want to let go of that… »  
  
He started as dextrous hands deftly divested him of his jacket, leaving him shivering in the damp basement.  
  
« You'll warm up in no time. », the voice muttered.  
  
The room was packed with people, and the constant brush of scalding skin against skin indeed warmed him up rapidly enough. The Voice sounded again, very near his ear :  
  
« See ? How did you get here Severus ? I though you were a serious boy... »  
  
A tall unidentified body brushed past against his back, and he shrugged off the fog filling his head with some difficulty. This is crazy.; What the hell am I doing here ? How… ?  
  
No memory sprung from his frantic search. How had he got to this party ? Where was he, anyway ? And how did the Voice know his name ?  
  
« How.. ? » he started, turning. But the only sight which greeted his eyes was that of a tangled couple involved in what seemed like a VERY compromising activity. He lifted an eyebrow, and averted his eyes. What was this place ?  
  
The music pounded steadily, relentlessly, and he found himself lost in the rhythm, his heart thumping in synch with the beat. His perceptions became unfocused, and for a fleeting instant he felt like all the hearts in the room were beating at that rhythm, that they were the music, engulfing him, drowning him, until…  
  
« Here, follow me »  
  
The Voice again, and a cold hang grabbing him and dragging him, unwilling, towards the door. The cold slapped him violently, and she felt the thinness of his shirt keenly. An ample overcoat was thrown over his shoulders, and he nodded his thanks, never turning around. His head cleared slightly with the night air and he started to take in his surroundings.  
  
"It's beautiful, is it not?"  
  
And it was, in a weird and unconventional way. In front of him and beneath him stretched a city, muggle by the look of it, a poisonous greenish haze covering it up entirely, dully glowing in the choking black night, like a polluted oasis. Cars were frantically dashing from one end of it to another, oblivious to her observation and to the poison slowly settling over them, signing their death warrants in their delusion of giving it life and movement. The city seemed to be pulsating strangely, and once again Severus found his heart beating in synch with it, his mind unresistingly melting with the consciousness of the polluted acid emerald at her feet, slowly gaining speed, neon flashing in her eyes, the low rumbling of motors in her throat, street lights flickering, a phone ringing, broken glass across the pavement, a scream and..  
  
A hand slapped him and he snapped out of his trance, sprawled across the terrace. A dark form loomed over him. The Voice hissed menacingly:  
  
"Stop that you stupid child"  
  
"Don't, the kid has talent."  
  
Where had that come from? His head spun wildly, and his thoughts couldn't focus. Then a name came into his mind unbidden. Ollivander. A face wavered before his eyes for a second, opal-like eyes looking at him intently, as if piercing his soul.  
  
"But you know we shouldn't mess with that until he is trained…" the Voice protested.  
  
"Trust me."  
  
Subdued, the Voice kept quiet, and Severus dissolved into unconsciousness.  
  
  
  
Severus sat in the Hogwarts Express, his eyes wandering absently over the scenery rolling past. Fields, fields, trees, the occasional dwelling…The radio was playing some sappy song or other, and he allowed his mind to synchronise with it, hoping to get a distraction from the melancholy she seemed to have been ensnared in for the past few hours The song was a love song, nothing to alleviate his mood. With a sense of resignation, he returned to flipping through the thick volume on his lap.  
  
"Though thy heart depart,  
  
It stays at home."  
  
The lines leaped at him from the page he was scanning. Trust John Donne to write such things. It must be a sonnet. With slightly shaking hands, he turned to the sermons. Some things had better be left alone. Especially his heart and its supposed "home". He snorted miserably, unable to refrain from a brief spell of self-pity. Another year to start, he thought to himself. Another year of pretending, of wearing that mask. Come to think of it, was it even a mask? He had worn it so long that he sometimes wondered whether there actually was anything underneath… Probably not anymore, he mused; all that was left of the person he once had been were his books and his potions. Unconsciously, his long, aristocratic hands clenched the hardback book harder, knuckles turning even whiter than their natural alabaster shade.  
  
A loud laugh echoed from the compartment next to his. A student probably. He cleared his mind of all thoughts and the answer reached him. Potter and his friends. Joy. Friendship. Warmth. A sense of coming home. He severed the link abruptly, too distraught to pry any further.  
  
Despair snaked its way inside his chest. How was he supposed to go though another year of this? And with *him* around too! He breathed in sharply, collecting himself, steeling his mind against the constant invasion of happiness from the following compartment. And something nagged at the edge of his mind, something… out of tune… a flicker of sadness. Anguish. Something so akin to what he had been feeling that he choked momentarily. Who..? But before he could investigate further, the train jolted to a halt at the gates of Hogwarts, and the whisper of the lone mind was drowned in explosions of glee, nervousness and peace. Trying hard not to retch, the Potions Master gathered his sleek suitcase and exited the train, haughtily sneering down at the crowd of midgets surrounding him.  
  
  
  
I sit on the wall, pad in hand, pencil in the other, frantically sketching you. Images boil around my head, driving me totally mad, so there is nothing for it but to proceed to this quiet exorcism. I pick out one image, of you looking at me with that unreadable expression of yours, eyes deep yet giving away nothing, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth… my pencil flies about the paper, outlining your face, delicately applying shadows. It resembles make-up, somehow. The idea of you with make- up makes me snicker.  
  
One down: this one is done, and won't be plaguing me again. I sift through my head for the next image, one of you leaning over some student's shoulder, muttering sarcastic comments in his ear, long black strands falling about your face in a way that makes me ache to brush them back… I shift on top of the wall, grasp my pencil more firmly and draw desperately, pouring my soul into my task. The light has been dimming steadily since two in the afternoon, and it is now to dark for me to continue, despite the dozens of unattended images still swirling though my brain.  
  
One last thing to do before I return to the Great hall for dinner: I swiftly fold the twenty sketches from this afternoon into planes and throw them out towards the Forbidden Forest, watching them disappear from my sight just as they have been purged from my mind.  
  
"What're you doing ?" I jump up, startled, then relax.  
  
"Nothing much, Sirius. Just thinking."  
  
He looks unsatisfied, but I can hardly tell him that I have been drawing his arch-nemesis all afternoon in a desperate attempt to get him out of my mind…  
  
"What've you got here? Oh, is that your pad? I didn't know you had taken to drawing again…" he sighs. "It's been so long".  
  
Don't, you idiot. Don't. Don't even hint as to when I stopped drawing. But his mind is obviously unreceptive to my pleas because he does it any way;  
  
"Last time I saw you do this was before that evening…"  
  
"Sirius, do me a favour, shut up."  
  
I didn't mean to snap, but I could hardly keep the bitterness out of my voice. I jump down from my haven and brush past him, forcing a smile.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've caught a cold of some sort, I'm a bit grumpy…"  
  
He seems satisfied with that, and I don't detail any further.  
  
We enter the Great Hall, and I hurry to my seat. During the holidays, few students are usually left, but this year there are even fewer. Which means that I have to sit at the same table as you, Severus, and unwittingly register new images of you that I will spend the entire day trying to free myself from tomorrow. Just now, you push back a lock from your face, and sip your coffee slowly, eyes narrowed at the others. I can see weariness in them, and then a spark of surprise, as your gaze becomes searching, studying intently each person at the table. Whatever could have happened? I push aside my questions and take a second composing myself and turning to Sirius for an alibi, asking him to pass the bread. Your eyes brush past me, and I can feel my neck burning under your intense scrutiny, though it is swifter that it was with the others; not that I can't understand that… After all, it is normal that you wouldn't want to see any more of me than you strictly have to, after what happened… I shiver, and your eyes travel back to me. Nothing else to say to Sirius: I'm stuck, I have to turn around and face you. I do so, slowly, struggling to remain composed. I gaze at you interrogatively, giving away nothing of the turmoil I feel inside. Visibly embarrassed at staring, you avert your eyes, but the pensive expression you bear doesn't assuage my fears in the least. I finish the meal nervously and leave, hurrying away from you, from life, from everything.  
  
  
  
A/N, The Return…: Okay, my question is, who do you think is our artist friend? Why does he draw Snape so restlessly, if not simply because he is head over heels with him? Any comments that you make will be taken into account for the sequel… though I have a few ideas of my own… Jeez guys, just help me, right? ( Luv ya, Unseen. 


	2. Challenge

UNSEEN is proud to present  
  
THE EMPATH CHALLENGE:  
  
My new story sports an empath Snape, as I am proud to say… (Smoke and Mirrors)  
  
Therefore.. I challenge thee to write the single most embarrassing thing that could happen to him due to this particular talent… ())) Contact me at  
  
unseen-univ@grannyweatherwax.com !  
  
My aim is to gather all your answers in one fic, as in one chapter per author. What do you think ?  
  
PS/ This can be as humorous or as dark as you like… rating up to NC-17.  
  
Review for any questions or comments… 


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